It's all your fault
by Fizz the Great
Summary: "Who are you?" "Sherlock Holmes," "either we have the same name or…" "the Doctor seemed to have messed up something in the universe causing two same people in different dimensions to meet each other, quite intriguing, don't you think Mr. Holmes?" Holmes meets Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

**Holmes is RDJ. Sherlock is Benedict Cumberbatch.**

"Who are you?" Holmes asks as he stares at the other man's neat black suit and black dress shirt.

"Sherlock Holmes," he says pulling out a gun. "I do believe I need to ask you the same question as well. Why are you here and who are you?"

Holmes shrugs, "either we have the same name or…"

"The dimensions crashed through the crack of wall, and the Doctor simply seemed to have messed up something in the universe causing two same people in different dimensions to meet each other, quite intriguing, don't you think Mr. Holmes?" The other man finish, gun still in hand. He blinks innocently at the man. "1890?"

"Um…yes," he tries to sound not too confused at this. He searches man's weird choice of clothing. "Around the… 21st century?"

"Indeed,"

"Impressive."

"Thank you,"

"I wasn't complementing you."

"I wasn't thanking you either."

Holmes stops. They sound like bickering idiots.

"I suppose you should drop your gun now, should I say… Mr. Sherlock," Holmes nods to the sleek weapon in the man's hand. Comparing to the small pistol weighing in his pocket, there is no way he will win the other detective in a gun fight. But a fist fight… perhaps…

 _Not the time,_ Watson suddenly pops in his mind. _Fist fights are not the time for anything, I can't believe I'm getting around with you like this._ Holmes suddenly had the urge to see what this man's Watson looks like. Maybe later.

"There's no need for the weapon Mr. Sherlock, I'm completely-" he takes out his hands, indicating that he's unarmed but the younger man still holds out his hand. "K49 Calibre pistol please," he asks, face emotionless.

Holmes scowls and hopes he had the most disdain expression pasted on his face as he hands over the gun. The young man unlocks the ammo compartment and dumps out the bullets, pocketing them gingerly. He gives his pistol back to him, on the other hand also putting away his own.

"We haven't properly introduced ourselves yet," Holmes says, glowering at his blank artillery.

"Well, I do know your name is Sherlock Holmes, you're from the 19th century judging by your clothes, constantly goes to fist fights, work out is not bad, however health, that's another situation. You tend to miss a lot of meals, likes to work in the dark and rarely cares about hygienic problems, only shaves around… twice or three times a week judging on how you feel that time, and… constantly likes to jump out of windows," the younger man concludes. He looks like he is about to continue his rant about him but Holmes quickly holds out a hand.

"Well, Mr. Sherlock, 21st century impersonator of mine, too young," he sniffs, "and too bold. I'm the older one of you and I know plenty about you too," he declares. He starts off as slow. "Unmarried, considered married to work, ah asexual! Now that's new!" He starts to pick up speed. "Used to do drugs, nicotine patches up your arm, smoking problems. Your flatmate, John Watson, is currently married and you're living alone but you're not used to it, considering going back to drugs, not a good choice and yet you seem to find boredom very agonizing, like me, seeing the bullet holes on your wall. Nice smily face by the way. The company of the spray paint… Sherwin-Williams? Been around for quiet a time I see." The young man raises an eyebrow. "Yep, I'm correct." Holmes grins cheekily at the man in front of him.

"Well, looks like we know plenty about each other, judging by the fact we are the _same person_ just in different dimensions," Sherlock smiles cooly. He does not like being tied.

"Ah, not really," Holmes butts in, "I have a dog that's still alive."

"Despite the multiple experiments you've tested on him," the younger Holmes finish.

Holmes smiles. "Not bad,"

"How did you get here?"

"Through the door,"

Sherlock rolls his eyes. "Apart from that,"

"Well, I was going out my door for a case,"

"Perfect, you used the door for the first time,"

Holmes glares at him for a good measure before continuing. "I opened the door and found myself at the bottom of your flat. When I realized where I was, I tried going back but the door seem to reveal a street. It is Baker Street but not the Baker Street I knew. Therefore I concluded, supernatural."

Sherlock lapses into silence.

"The only way to go back is to probably wait for the exact time tomorrow and go through the door. That should lead you back to your world," Sherlock says.

"So I'm going to stay at your flat for 24 hours," Holmes mumbles, throwing himself onto John's chair. "Brilliant,"

Sherlock's expression remained passive. "John's going to come back soon," he says, "I say we shall choose different names, it will be quite difficult for him to tell between us when he visits today,"

Holmes looks at him up and down before saying, "Very well, I'm William and you're Scott,"

"Not bad," Sherlock makes a face.

 _eight minutes later…_

"Sherlock, did you get the milk today?" John asks .

Sherlock frowns at him. "I'm Scott and he's William," Sherlock deadpans.

"Ah ha, very funny Sherlock," John says sarcastically. "No seriously, who is this?"

"Sherlock Holmes, from the 1890s,"

"Sorry what?"

"The Doctor seemed to have opened the crack in the wall again,"

"The Doctor? That mad man?"

"Yes,"

"So now you're…"

"Scott,"

"And he's William, yeah right, got that part, … Scott,"

"Not a problem John,"

"So I really have to call you Scott now?"

"Yes,"

"Why can't he be William and you be Sherlock?"

"That won't be fair," Holmes pips up from the other end of the room.

John rolls his eyes, "Fine. Scott, did you get the milk today?"

"No,"

John throws up his hands in defeat. "Is God punishing me today?"

"Maybe," Holmes says, "if you got the milk by yourself, I wouldn't be here,"

"Or you got the milk and he's still here," Sherlock says.

John feels like punching both Sherlocks in the face. "I'm going to my room," he says, "you two got each other anyway. Go on some crime scene together." He starts for the door. "Oh, and NO EXPERIMENTS!" John shouts, pointing at the two men still in the living room.

"Of course…" John's door slams to a shut, "not," Sherlock finish.

Holmes laughs. "Now what?"


	2. Chapter 2

"Now we decide who get's the milk," Sherlock says, pulling out two long… are these sabers?

"Are these sabers?"

Sherlock takes a look at the long fencing swords in his hands. Then he looks innocently at the other man. "Are you blind?" He asks kindly.

Holmes glowers. "A bit," he sniffs.

"Well, that's too bad," Sherlock tosses the sword over and Holmes catches it mid-air. "Rules are simple, whoever loses goes buy the milk."

Holmes examine the saber in his hand. He sucks at fencing and sword fights. He sucks at it ever since he was born. Now stuck in this position, he rather jump out the window than stand here with a sword in his hand.

Too bad he's actually standing here with a sword.

"God dammi-" He didn't even get to finish his sentence when the younger man suddenly lunge at him, sword raised.

He was just in time to raise his sword and block the attack but Sherlock seems to predict it. In one fluid movement, he step-sides and slid his sword up, twisting Holmes and stopping just with the edge of the saber dangerously close to Holmes' neck.

"Damn," he swears. "Not bad," he smiles. "But not good enough." And with all his strength, the older Holmes stomps down on the younger man's foot. Pain lit up on the young man's face and he lets out a hiss of pain before backing off, sword slashing to block off the stab his opponent attempts.

Sherlock cocks his head. "Not bad," he smirks.

Holmes grins back. "I know right."

He lunges and Holmes backtrack. Swords clash against swords. Their sabers interlock. And then…

With a simple flick of his wrist, Holmes' saber shoots up it the air impaling itself on the ceiling.

"I believe I win," Sherlock says, pointing the blade right at Holmes' throat. The older man only smiles cheekily at him.

"That doesn't mean I have to get the milk, does it?"

Sherlock is smiling too but his eyes remained cold. "Yes,"

Holmes sours. "Bullshit," he spits. He moves out the way. "I don't even know where to get the milk! Find a cow?"

Sherlock moves to the window and brushes the curtains back. He frowns. "Something's not right," he murmurs.

Holmes twists to face him. "What?"

The young man ignores him and makes for the door. He tosses his Belstaff coat over him and grabs his scarf, going down the stairs two by two.

"Wait, whoa, what?" Holmes tries to follow him.

"You stay here. I got this covered." Sherlock says.

Holmes frown. "You can't just leave like that."

"Yes I can and I will." Sherlock calls, his voice fading. The sound of a door closing follows his words.

At this, Holmes frown deepens. "No, no, no, you aren't leaving me here kid." Holmes shrug on his own coat jacket. Yet instead of going to the stairs, he turns to the opposite way. Unlatching the windows, he pulls it up and peers down at the ground below.

Not bad, a few trash bags to break his fall would do. And without a second thought, he jumps.

"Bloody-" Sherlock whips around and glares at him with piercing blue eyes. "What in the world is wrong with you?" The younger Holmes has barely made six feet from his door when this mad man appeared in front of him.

"Nothing's wrong with me, bitch please, I'm Sherlock Holmes." The man exclaims, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sherlock shots him a fierce glare and turns to walk away. He stops mid-way and a strange expression crossed the young man's face as he flinches. He reaches for the feathery needle buried in his neck and pulls it out. A look of confusion clouded his features but quickly slackens as he stumbles and falls into the arms of another man. At the same time, Holmes felt the same prick in his own neck.

"What the…" it is a feathered needle. He laughs. Out of all the things-

He didn't even have time to finish his thought when the world darkens.

—

He wakes up in a brightly lit warehouse. Who the hell has the right mind to light up a room?

"This chair sucks!" Holmes yell at his kidnapper passing by. "Who made this thing? Some moron on drugs?"

"Maybe it's uncomfortable because your hands are tied behind you." The kidnapper replies, calmly picking out a gleaming knife.

"Bullsh-" In a blink, his kidnapper has his hand over his mouth and the knife he was polishing is pushed against his neck.

"I would love for a chat but now is really not the time," he whispers. Holmes draws away at the touch of the man.

"Who are you?"

"Someone unimportant,"

"Oh, that's nice. Then stop pointing your knife at me."

His kidnapper smiles then lifts his knife. Holmes checks his restraints. His fingers brush against something cold.

"Holy sh-" the thing he touched jerks awake. Their restraints pull. Chair legs scuffle along with dress shoes scraping the ground.

"Jesus!" The man breathes heavily on the other side. "You're here too?"

It took Sherlock several breaths to right himself. "F*ck," he swears. Like him, the younger man tests his restraints. Their hands brush against each other again.

"Um, knife guy?" Holmes call. Knife guy turns around. "The restraints are a bit too tight."

His shark grin returns. "Good,"

"Damn!" Holmes grumbles.

There is a moment of silence where the man has his back faced to his hostages, organizing some needles and knives on the table along with many other unrecognizable objects from Holmes' point of view. Nobody said anything for an agonizing five minutes and Holmes itched to get the restraints off his wrists. Two minutes later, the door at the far end clicks open. A man in a neat, ironed-down suit walks in.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

Both men glance at the man in bewilderment. For the first time, Holmes has nothing to say. "I…um, Scott?"

Sherlock is silent.

"Well, I'm sorry but none of us is this Sherlock Holmes you talk about," Holmes say. "I'm William and this is Scott. Right?"

Sherlock hums.

The man looks from Holmes to the younger man. "Okay, well, that's not a problem." He gets out a roll of duct tape. "Here's something to get you talking."

Holmes' eyes widen at the sudden appearance and braced himself for his mouth to be taped. However, instead of coming to tape his mouth, the man picks up a sphere with blinking lights on it from the table his associate was organizing.

"What is that? Your Christmas ornament?"

The man said nothing. "Open up." The man grasps Sherlock's neck, forcing him to open his mouth. "There you go," without warning, he stuffs the ball in Sherlock's mouth and wounds the tape around his mouth. He checks his watch.

"You have two minutes," he says. "Now speak."

Holmes looks frantically from Sherlock to the man. "What the hell?"

That man just stuffed a ball into the man's mouth. Everything in his mind clicked to place.

 _Shit._ The ornament is a bomb.

"Shit!" Holmes glance at Sherlock. He knows what's going on. Sweat has already gathered at his forehead and he's leaning forward trying to control his breathing. He must be hearing the bomb ticking in his mouth.

"Now tell me, which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?"

 **我忘记说了，这是在夏洛克第一季的时候。I forgot to mention this is taken place somewhere in Season 1.**


End file.
